


Rich and Prosperous

by Mikanis



Series: The Good Doctor [2]
Category: Firefly, Serenity (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Malcolm Reynolds, BAMF River, BAMF Simon Tam, Canon-Typical Violence, Currently Freeform, Developing Relationship, Dreams and Nightmares, Fugitives, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Light Dom/sub, Light control kink, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Nobody is Dead, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Siblings, Psychic Bond, Redemption, Second Chances, Simon-centric, Various Kinks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2019-11-08 12:33:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17981420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikanis/pseuds/Mikanis
Summary: Welcome back! Simon seems to be my muse of late, and this picks up immediately after the first story, so if you're a little lost, give it a once over. Cheers!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back! Simon seems to be my muse of late, and this picks up immediately after the first story, so if you're a little lost, give it a once over. Cheers!

Simon was a terrible patient, as it turned out. He knew it from the moment he arrived back on the ship and had to talk Mal and Zoe through his surgery, knew within twelve hours of staring at his own infirmary’s ceiling that he was going to lose his gorram mind on that table long before he was able to get up from it. He tried at every opportunity, despite that.

Now, staring through the infirmary door for hours on end, where the bathroom was just...right there, it made sense. Made more sense than asking the people he cared about to clean up after him. The physician’s brain, the logical problem-solver, tsked over the decision, but he clung to the illusion of independence. After the first few stumbling steps, ricocheting off walls like a paper ball comprised solely of pain and aggravation, River caught him in the doorway, tucking under his arm without a word. He leaned on her, distracted by the too-present bone under the wire of her frame, but she bore his weight easily, to his surprise.

When he’d finished and washed up, she was waiting outside the door. He tried to thank her for not scolding him and got a prim statement along the lines of how he’d better glad he couldn’t hear her side of things, because she knew he was being stupid, and so did he. And before Simon thought better of it, but he asked her if she’d rather clean his bed pan. 

And the look on her face shamed him. Shamed him so thoroughly he wished he could swallow his tongue, because he’d had to do that for her a number of times during her recovery, and she’d born it with grace that he couldn’t be bothered to muster for himself. 

“Do you think no one else is capable of helping without resentment? Are you such a paragon?” She stepped up to him and thumped him squarely between his brows. “Hypocrisy is beneath you.” 

He felt her pain and irritation buzzing in the back of his head like a wasp’s nest, but before he could apologize, she just pointed at his pants leg and the coin sized stain of blood spreading through the fabric. “You’re bleeding again.” 

Simon sighed, offering his hand to her, “River, I--”

She turned up the stairs, leaving him more or less stranded at the edge of the couch. Simon sighed, supposed he deserved that, and rather than fight his way back to the table, he dropped trow there at the couch and settled himself on the heavy cushions. After readjusting the bandage on his thigh and the sling pinning his arm close to avoid strain on the bad shoulder, he pulled his favorite squashed pillow over and settled in for a nap. 

The second adventure gave him a taste of success before it went sideways. Mal came early in the morning to tell him they were making port on Ariel, asked if wanted them to kidnap a doctor while they were in town. Simon had snorted and instead asked him for a crutch to help him get around the ship. The captain nodded, clasping his thigh just above the knee on the way out the door, and Simon watched him go...wished he wasn’t leaving. Mal had been a busy man since leaving Marigny, and even before that, Simon were honest. He was not the type to sit idle, and while the ship was his home, he had a firm policy that the crew earned their wages keeping it running. Perhaps that was a holdover from his military days, and perhaps Simon was just going stir crazy, but if Mal was working, Simon felt like he should be too. Or at least, if Simon wasn’t working, Mal’s time could be better spent languishing in a bed with a nominal amount of clothing between them and Simon’s hands--

He was frustrated, after a fashion. He recognized that about himself, even as he relished the small touches the captain offered. Those were getting more frequent, now that even Book knew about them. 

Mal was not quite affectionate, which Simon appreciated to a point, but the small gestures he made now only served to highlight how little time they’d had together, specifically alone. Worse, Simon hadn’t really been able to interact with the crew much now that it was common knowledge, and he worried. 

He made it about an hour after the ship landed and the mule fired up and pulled away. In the end, it was the smell of food upstairs that did it. He just wanted to see everyone, wanted off the couch, even if just to see the painting that River had completed at last. 

The hole in his leg was four inches deep, straight through muscle and he’d been lucky the branch he’d struck was pliable enough to warp around the bone instead of breaking it. The corded muscle as a whole had torn loose, and slipped oddly under his skin, but there was no damage to the major arteries on either side. The ligaments would heal in time, the wound itself weeping cleanly as his body worked to set things right. He was doing himself no favors by pushing it, especially without a crutch at hand. 

He made it to the landing before his head started swimming. He paused, forcing himself to breathe slowly and deeply through his nose until he could half- fall across the gap in the handrails. 

Above, he heard River call, her voice somewhat distracted. He could just picture her, stirring the pot of stew with her head tilted as though the universe were whispering in her ear. He grit his teeth, ignoring how clearly he could feel his heartbeat under the bandages, and pressed on. 

“Jayne!” She knew he was going to fall before he did. Some petty voice in his head said that maybe if she hadn’t startled him, his foot wouldn’t have caught on the edge of the stair, and he wouldn’t have slipped, wouldn’t have landed squarely on the still tender ribs that--

“Aw hell, doc.” Jayne appeared at the top of the stairwell, looming. He was hazing in and out of focus, and Simon wondered dramatically to himself if he was going to remember was living without pain felt like. When this was over, wouldn’t he miss it? “Nobody’s looking for a repeat performance here, hold your damn horses.”

Would he still be capable of producing adrenaline at that point? Jayne took the steps down two at a time, crouching where he was stretched out and trying to hold himself off the stairwell. He felt like a bag of broken glass under that look, and he resented it. Before he could snap about it, thick hands wound into the front of his shirt over the strap of the sling and he was hauled upright onto his ass on the second step. 

Jayne didn’t quite set him down, either, shifting his feet. One hand dropped to Smon’s belt and he was lifted as though he weight nothing at all. He braced a hand on the older man’s shoulder and Jayne nodded him up, settling his arm around Simon’s hips to support him. “Well, come on, I ain’t gonna carry ya.” 

He did, however, more or less. Simon’s feet only served to stabilize him as the pair limped up to the dining room and the mercenary dropped him there against the wall. River’s lips were pursed over the burner, tossing her towel and spoon aside to take him the last leg to the table. Simon fell into his seat with a breath of thanks, noticing the sheen of sweat on his brow for the first time. River said nothing, simply returned to her pot and tossed him a clean towel. Jayne refilled his tea mug and posted up a seat away from him.

That was the point where Simon realized the two of them were alone in the kitchen and abruptly felt like he’d interrupted something. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, and pulled the sling over his head, working the snaps open. 

“I don’t like that she can read my mind.” 

Simon paused, glancing up at Jayne sharply. He’d said it as though it explained everything, but Simon wasn’t following. “...I think you’re assuming a degree of interest on her part.” 

“No, he’s interesting.” River supplied, tasting the stew and wrinkling her nose. “He’s just gross.”

Jayne made a face at her, turning back to the doctor. “Ain’t right.”

“Well, I’m a staunch advocate of your attempts to avoid her, then.” Simon answered cooly, shrugging the sling off and flexing his fingers with a grimace. “She has nothing to gain from your presence.” 

Jayne looked at him, bewildered. “What crawled up your ass?”

“We’re on Ariel. And he’s nervous.” River said flatly, spooning the meal into bowls and threading her wrist through the kettle’s handle before coming to join them. She shoved their respective bowls to them, glancing between the two. “Last time we were here, you--”

“I know.” Jayne bit off, staring at his food as though it had personally offended him. 

River leaned to Simon, her tone conspiratorial, “He doesn’t understand how we don’t hold grudges.”

“Stop  _ doing  _ that. Jesus.” Jayne snapped, pulling away as though the added distance would help. 

River ignored him. “He doesn’t talk about his feelings, ever.” 

Jayne flushed an ugly red, nose curling at her words. “I swear girlie, if you don’t--”

“Shut up,  wúyòng de, yúchǔn de húndàn.” Useless, stupid asshole. Simon’s eyes widened, fairly sure he was about to get killed trying to keep Jayne from violence, but River only offered him a sunny smile across the table. “I like you. And everyday I don’t kill you is evidence that I like you, so if you would both be so kind as to _ get over it _ ?”

“What?” Simon started, chuckling as he jerked a thumb towards the mercenary. “You want me to make nice with him?”

“Well, if he betrays us again now that he’s rich enough to buy his family out of poverty, I’m pretty sure I could keelhaul him with little resistance.” She said, still smirking. “So...don’t get  _ too  _ friendly, but listening to his apology on loop is boring.”

Simon turned back to Jayne, frowning in confusion. “You apologized to her?”

“Not out loud.” Jayne grumbled.

River sipped her tea, watching them. “He’s apologized every day since we confronted him about it. Still thinks we’re just waiting to take revenge.”

“I don’t.” 

“You worry about it. You both worry so gorram much, it’s exhausting.” She answered tiredly into her mug. 

Simon reached for his spoon and at the last second, his fingers spasmed knocking it against the bowl instead. He sighed. Suddenly, coming upstairs didn’t seem like such a boon after all. He flexed his still tingling hand and an idea struck him. He glanced up the mercenary’s sullen expression, trying to catch him between bites. “Jayne...what do you know about physical therapy?”

“...that it’s physical, and it’s therapy.” The man replied drolly. “Context clues n’ all.” 

“I need...help.” Simon started slowly, feeling River’s hum of approval in his head more than in his ears. “Mal says you’re a pretty  _ yǒushēngyǒusè  _ trainer on the bench.”

“Can be.” Jayne hedged, eyeing him. “I know you work out when I’m asleep. You’re the only one ‘bothers to put’em away when you’re done.”

Simon nodded. “Would you consider putting a routine together with me? I’ll show you what I need done and why and you’d...make me do it, I suppose.”

Jayne set his spoon down with a thunk. “You want me to get on your ass to work out?”

“Not...weight lifting, exactly, but the concept is the same. I’m…” Simon bit his cheek, glaring at his left arm to avoid their gaze. “Well, bluntly, I’m worried. My arm is not improving at the rate I was expecting, By now, it should be the least of my concerns, but I’m starting to wonder if there wasn’t a fracture on top of the dislocation.” 

“And what, you can’t be a surgeon with a gimp?”

“If you lost an eye, would you still be a marksman?” 

Jayne considered that, looking him over again. “Not without work, I guess. Yeah. Sure.”

“Alright. Mal’s bringing me a crutch later today, I should be able to get to the bench on my own after that. We can start whenever you’d like.”

“Why didn’t you ask him?”

“He needs someone objective to his pain.” River answered for him, pushing his bowl forward and Simon wondered at the role reversal, that she was reminding  _ him  _ to eat. “Mal won’t push him like you will. It would take longer. Too long risks the damage becoming permanent.”

Jayne grunted at that, shoving a few more bites in as he considered the proposal. “I do this, we’re square?”

“...You don’t owe me this.” Simon stated flatly, glancing at River to find her nodding in agreement. “Don’t do it out of guilt. She’s right, I’m tired of chewing on this resentment between us. I think it’ll help. You’ll understand me better afterwards, and I’ll get to call you a variety of colorful names, and when it’s done, it’s done.”

Jayne nodded, looking back at his little sister warily. “And ‘bout that other thing?”

River just rolled her eyes. “Your perspective on women is hardly unique. I’ve been called worse by better.” 

Simon frowned at that, but Jayne just grinned and River threw her spoon at him with startling accuracy, catching him in the teeth. It dumbfounded him that this slip of a girl was not even remotely afraid of the trained killer across from her, and he might as well have said so out loud, from flat look that earned him.

Jayne licked his teeth in annoyance, holding her spoon hostage. “Rude.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I would like to make it up to you by mentioning that, in order to keep this an indulgence fic, I have decided to write the romance of Zoe and Wash in a separate fic. 
> 
> Because I'm a whore for developing relationship stories when I know something terrible happens to it in canon. Hurts so good. 
> 
> Any, who. Keep an eye out for that.

 

Mal looked inordinately pleased to see him at the table, and his smile drew one reluctantly from Simon. He felt his cheeks warm as though he’d been caught at something, Mal studying his face as he deposited a square box at the head of the table and slung a bag to the floor. The doctor pretended not to watch him remove his jacket over the rim of his teacup, inhaling through his nose. It bothered him how spoiled he’d become for the other man’s attention, how he seemed to crave it both in the privacy of his own mind when alone and when Mal deigned to...hell, look at him. Breathe in the same room. 

He thought that expression was too knowing, too smug, when his shirt pulled tight across his chest and his infamous coat-of-a-brown color draped over the chair at the head of the table. Zoe and Wash filed in afterwards with a few baskets of fresh fruit and Simon stared long enough that the clatter of dark canvas and steel onto the table in front of him was enough to make him jump in his seat. 

It dawned seconds later, what he was looking at, and he lit up unabashedly. “How did you manage this?”

“Ariel would be the place. Figured a cane wouldn’t play well with your shoulder.” Mal answered, his hand sliding easily onto the back of the doctor’s neck as Simon picked up the brace and inspected it. It was not new, but the joints were well oiled and the laces sound. He was right, this was infinitely better than a crutch for the two or three weeks it would take for his leg wound to close. A peek in the bag revealed interchangeable stirrups, one of metal that was designed to fit the arch of a shoe, and a thinner one of supple leather for when he wasn’t up to the task of tying his laces. 

“Thank you. It’s perfect.” Simon beamed up at him, and Mal made a point of looking away with a satisfied smile, something Simon was beginning to understand was the closest the man got to blushing. His thumb crept slightly higher to card through his hair, and Simon shivered at even that small contact.

The fact that the captain was eight years celibate before meeting him didn’t bode well for his growing desire for...something, to happen, before his healing was done. Anything really. Simon was not above making out and heavy petting, he really wasn’t. 

River snickered from the bar, and Simon grit his teeth, throwing her a dirty look. 

There was a sudden flash of overalls and floral print as Kaylie skidded into the kitchen doorway, tablet in hand. “Captain!”

Mal tensed, Simon wincing under his fingers, humor gone for a split second, “What?”

“...No, sorry, I mean…” She pointed desperately at the bill of goods from the days shopping trip, scrolling and then tapping the screen furiously. “This says…”

“Oh.” 

Mal sounded bemused. Kaylie’s eyes widened, looking ten years younger. “But...It says cake.” 

“It does say cake.” 

“But...  _ cake _ ?” Kaylie repeated, practically vibrating at the seams. “Real cake?”

“Mhm.” 

“ _ Duìyú shàngdì de ài, rúguǒ nǐ zài xìnòng _ \--”, She whined and Mal chuckled.

“I’m not teasing, it’s a real cake.” 

Kaylie made some indescribable sound and leaned over to the comm panel, “Nara, Book, come to mess, there’sacakeinthe _ mess _ ….”

“Well, it’s hardly got your name on it, last I checked.” Mal was lying, Simon knew, but the look Kaylie gave him ran the gamut through horror, wounding, rage, and settled on the most complicated pout Simon had ever seen. Mal’s thumb returned to his hair, drawling to the firstmate as the preacher entered through the other side. “She hardly noticed all that fruit, Zoe, maybe we oughta take it back.”

“It ain’t all for her either.” Zoe quipped, tugging her basket of oranges closer protectively.

“Simon?” Inara’s voice felt like a warm breeze in his mind, and he turned a little to smile at her as she came to his other shoulder. “It’s so good to see you at the table again.”

“Yeah, we...should...have cake...to celebrate it.” The mechanic licked her lips.

Mal’s hand left his neck, waiting until Inara stepped aside to pull Simon’s chair back. It startled him to be moved so easily, and he was coming to suspect that Mal just...did that. Enjoyed it even, catching him off guard with the difference in their builds. Simon was not a small man, by any means, but pound for pound, Mal was stocky and had the wherewithal to bring it to bear when he wanted.

“Wash, would you bring round the plates and whatnot before Kaylie has a stroke?” The captain gave him a little room as he swung his legs free of the table and pulled the heavy brace under his thigh. He zipped the cuff close to his hip and left the laces open, giving them a considering look. Mal reached past his twitching fingers without a word and tugged the side together deftly, pulling the slack out as he went to keep the tension. He was done in half a second, before Simon had realized he was about to ask for help, and certainly before he thought to complain about it. His bandage started just under the the heavy seam. It was perfect. 

Mal nudged his ankle out with a boot gently and knelt to do the same with the cuff that held the spring loaded steel to his calf. Simon glanced about self consciously, but the crew was too honed in on the promise of sweets to be paying much attention, and he wasn’t sure if he was glad for that or not. He wondered if Mal was going to be shy about them. Wondered if he was. 

The captain braced a hand on the table as he stood and Simon pretending not to notice the tight edge of his smile as his burn scars stretched. He asked lowly under the sound of chairs pulling out. “You done with the sling now, or just taking a break?”

“I’ll probably still sleep in it, but I have to start working on it from here.” Simon shrugged his good shoulder, maneuvering the braced leg back under the table and pushing forward. “Jayne’s agreed to help me on the bench. I’ll let you know how it goes.” 

“Hm.” Mal assented, turning away to cruise the bar and return with a pair of peaches. He took his place opposite the doctor, leaning back against his coat, and it wasn’t until Simon tucked the sling into his lap that he realized everyone...was seated. Together. 

He stared down at the dark wooden table, noting its sheen for the first time. “Oh...We have a new table.”

“Ya been sitting here an hour!” Jayne laughed.

Wash tipped open the cake box, and the smell of fresh fruit wafted over the table, instantly sealing a hush over the crew. Kaylie was very clearly having a moment, swallowed thickly as he unfolded the box to reveal neatly textured pink frosting and a mound of fresh sliced strawberries over the top.

When he cut into it to reveal a ribbon of thick red jam in the center, she audibly squeaked. 

“Cap’n?” Wash offered Mal the first piece, but the older man waved it off, gesturing to his peaches with a pocket knife produced from thin air. 

“Not my kind of sweet. Ya’ll enjoy, I’m happy right here.” 

“Can I have your piece?” She barely whispered it and Wash laughed, serving the mechanic first. She picked up her fork and hesitated, glancing around as though asking if she was really allowed to have it. Or perhaps, pausing to draw the moment out, where it lay pristine and unmolested. 

She made it until all but two crew members had cake in front of them before she lost herself and took a bite so big her cheek bulged and she melted a little in her seat. 

Simon grinned, picking at his plate to get the pastry and jam, leaving the shell of icing more or less untouched. Usually, he could only take so much sugar at once, and the jam was very rich. He did take a bite at the end, and almost regretted his decision, because the icing was made with fresh cream and more fruit, surprisingly delicate and a bit tart. He caught the pause in Mal’s hands before looking up to see the hesitation echoed in his expression as well, the shadow in his eyes and curve of his smirk. Perhaps he wasn’t the only one frustrated after all. Why had he been staring at Mal’s hands anyway? By the time he swallowed the frosting, he was fairly sure his face matched its pink tint.

Jayne finished his in three bites and wordlessly dumped a second on to Kaylee’s plate before helping himself as well. He raised his fork when he finally slowed enough to inhale. “Somethin’ about cake and eating it too.” 

“Hear Hear.” Wash echoed, making to steal a bite from Zoe and gaining an audible slap on the hand. 

Book intoned solemnly, “This counts as a religious experience, I’m certain.” 

Mal smiled quietly to himself, satisfied with everyone’s happiness as he set the first peach pit aside. 

Simon mused quietly, “That quote is actually about killing people, isn’t it?”

Jayne squinted and Kaylie whispered reverently, “I would kill for cake.” 

“It is.” Simon explained, setting his fork down and glancing at River to check his facts. “From Earth-that-was. The french woman, wasn’t it?”

“ No, that was ‘Let them eat cake.’ from Marie Antoinette, Queen of France.” River supplied and her brother nodded. “She starved the poor and they think she triggered the revolution with that retort when questioned about it.” 

“The revolution came first, I think. That’s just the reason they beheaded her.” 

“Totally worth it.” Kaylee murmured dreamily, half a step from licking her plate. 

Simon brightened, glancing at Book before clearing his throat. “So...Mal, I think we should have the talk.” 

The captain froze in his seat, confusion on his face but then his smile turned wicked and he nodded through the rest of his bite. “Right, sure...I got this. So, Jayne, when two people love each other very much--”

River let out a shriek of laughter, Kaylie too, and it was infectious, spreading around the table while Jayne wore his best put-upon expression. Simon would never admit how relieved he was by the reaction, some measure of his concern slipping away.

“The showers. Showers.” Simon interrupted as it died down, “I want new showers. Real ones.” 

“Ah, yes, we’ve discussed it, and Simon mentioned you were also interested in reconfiguring the modules in Serenity’s neck.” 

“Huh?” That got Kaylie’s attention.

“We need new showers?” Mal repeated bluntly, setting on his second peach. “Worked fine this morning.”

“For all of three gallons, only the first of which was hot.” Simon said carefully, resting his chin on hand. “They have a continuous core system now. And there’s a tank upgrade available now that extends into that spare cargo hold near the stairs. Only on one side. But...it would mean we could maybe have five gallon showers.”

“And, we’re within a few hours travel of a shipyard that could manage the work order.” Book supplemented.

Mal looked unconvinced. “Why do we need five gallon showers?”

“You could...look at it in the light that...more water means fewer stops, less potential run-ins with Alliance.” The preacher tried, lifting his brows.

“...And I want five gallon showers.” Simon reiterated gently, fixing Mal a stare until he saw the corner of his lips threaten to break into a smile. "What? You left me unattended for days on end with the tablet, I researched how to spend our money."

“I’ll think on it. We’ll be docked here another day or so.” The captain leaned back in his chair, pointing at Simon with his knife as he chastised, “Where’d you learn wiles? Inara, you teaching him wiles?”

The companion rolled her eyes from her seat at Simon’s elbow. “No, Mal. You’re just easy.”

“Wha...I am not!” Mal said, glancing around the table for an ally. “Jayne, tell them I’m manly, wiles don’t work on me.” 

Jayne just raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “Hell no, can’t do it. Bad enough I’m the only person on this ruttin’ boat ‘don’t think about dick everyday.” 

“Hey!” Wash chimed in before Book had a chance to, but Jayne wasn’t hearing it. 

“What? Mal’s sly, Doc fucks everything that’s nice to him except Kaylie, Kaylie just...IS Kaylie, Inara gets paid, Wash and Zoe are married and this one…” He pointed at the preacher, “Probably swore off sex altogether to avoid temptation or some shit. Just leaves me.”

“And me.” River offered quietly. “But you and I share a persuasion, so I suppose I don’t count.”

“Care to elaborate on that?” Jayne asked, suddenly interested and Simon almost threw his plate at the salacious grin.  

“She doesn’t.” He hissed.

“You talking about the Ring Depot on the edge of the cluster, Shepherd?”

Book seemed relieved by the change of subject. “I am.”

“Well...they have the parts, but I don’t like putting Serenity in the hands of strange men. She’s picky like that.” The mechanic turned back to Mal. “Could I take care of the install?”

“They’d probably appreciate your input when it comes time, and I’d feel better for it.” Mal nodded, pushing the forgotten tablet closer to her. “See if you can get a catalogue on the room modules, let me know what we’re looking at.” 

“...And the showers.” 

Mal side-eyed him with a wry twist on his lips. “And the showers.”


	3. Chapter 3

The promise of hot showers had everyone moving. Simon dangled his legs into the ladder well of Mal’s bunk as they daisy chained his belongings out to make room for Book. Simon found himself surprised when the boxes stopped at four, and a few handfuls of clothing hangers. He pulled back, brace creaking slightly as Mal started to come up the ladder. “That’s it?”

“Rest is in...storage.”

“What’s storage? In the hangar?”

“Nope, down here!” Wash called behind him and Simon turned over his shoulder to see his mop of blond waves just visible in the chute to the other suite. The suite that, in a few...days, god that was soon, he and Mal would be sharing. He bit back his apprehension at the thought, writing the nerves away despite having never tried to cohabitate with another person before. Not like that. It would be fine. He was a doctor and Mal was ex-military, they were...going to get along just fine.

He peered into Mal’s boxes curiously, taking in the well worn spines of several books, journals, folded maps and old cigar boxes. He’d been expecting more, but perhaps he shouldn’t have. Mal’s home was destroyed by the alliance when he was away at school, and he’d joined the rebellion while still on campus. After the war were years of feast or famine, living job to job without any roots in the system. It shouldn’t surprise him that the majority of his belongings were pocket sized, stashable, and probably of immense emotional value. 

Simon could empathize, lately.  Mal stepped around him, crossing to the other ladder, and Simon jumped as something crashed below deck and Jayne’s muttered cursing filtered up through the open hatch. Mal flashed him a grin, and Simon watched as the boxes came up. 

And came. And  _ came _ .

“God, what is--”

“Ain’t even got to mine yet, this is all Wash.” Mal answered wryly, setting aside a clear garment bag with a riot of patterned shirts inside that were absolutely, unequivocally, the Washburne Fashion Special. Kaylee appeared in the Kitchen door with a cart and began hauling the excess over to be taken to the lift off the commons, where it was destined for...Simon realized he didn’t know. 

“Where’s it going?”

“Well, Serenity’s full of pockets.” Kaylie huffed, and Simon felt that he should be helping, or at least getting out of the way. He stood and dusted his hands, maneuvering the brace into position to support his weight. After a moment’s hesitation, he grabbed the garment bags, limping along. 

“Hey, Mal, you want some cheesecake?” Wash asked as he handed up a roll of posters. “Might not be your to your taste, but the wife won’t have it.” 

“Dibs!” Jayne snapped, and Mal just shook his head, handing them off to the doctor as he returned. He unrolled them far enough take in an unwarranted amount of skin and lace, pursing his lips slightly to keep from blushing. Of course Jayne wanted them, he just hadn’t expected such from Wash. Perhaps Zoe had reformed him, somehow. Simon dropped them gracelessly down the ladder to the mercenary’s bunk and then reached for another box, one full of books. 

Mal slid it out of his reach with a firm look. Simon did not quite roll his eyes, “Mal, come on.”

“You lift with your knees doctor, and last I checked, one of your legs isn’t bending. You want to add a hernia to the laundry list?”

“No, he doesn’t.” Kaylie grabbed him by the hips and turned him firmly towards the helm. “Zoe needs help with the module order.” 

Zoe’s voice called from the upper deck. “I….sure. Yes. I need lots of...help. With this.”

Simon bit his tongue and tried not to sigh audibly as he turned and made his way up the stairs. 

XXXX

River was still sick. Sick wasn’t even the word, broken was the more apt description. He hadn’t forgotten, he’d never forget, but with the distraction of the Marigny job, Mal, his own injuries, he’d begun to trust that she would at least be okay. The medications he had on her on were a constant balancing act between propping her up against depression and PTSD and providing a chemical filter to replace what they’d removed from her amygdala. The filter was incomplete at best. 

They were having lunch when the episode came on. It was not the first since Marigny, but it was the worst, and Simon heard it like a roll of thunder, sitting next to her at the table. Wires crossing was her favorite term to describe them, but her hands took on a slightly tremor and then her cutlery fell to the table with a clatter. Mal looked up from his book. 

Simon didn’t reach for her arm, where it rested on the table. Zoe and Wash were discussing something over the kettle, oblivious, but Simon felt it. It was jarring. A low hum of tension and electricity in the back of his head that grew to a dull roar, as though his ears needed to pop and couldn’t. He schooled his features, drew the mental curtain between the brother and the doctor, and didn’t look up at her until he was sure his pity and love were carefully tucked away. 

She wore a thousand yard stare, somehow compiling all of that space into the few inches between her eyes and her plate of cut fruit. He watched her lips twitch, morphing into a grimace of pain where the rest of her remained limp and still aside from the tremor of her fingers. They moved as though typing on the tabletop. Slowly, she turned to look at him, and she didn’t see him, not really. He was abruptly concerned that she’d gone blind, but she tracked his movement as he leaned forward, asking quietly, “What’s going on?”

“No.” She frowned, blinking rapidly and shaking her head slightly. Turned back to him again, “No.”

“No?” Simon prompted, aware of Mal’s eyes on the pair of them, but unsure of whether he should be reassuring him or not. Her mouth worked, screwing up as she bit the inside of her cheek and stared at her own hands. 

“No?” She repeated. Then again, with more force. “No. ….No!” 

Her frustration was evident, and Simon winced as bit her tongue next, hard enough to draw blood before tilting her head back and closing her eyes. “ _ No _ .” 

It was clearly not what she meant to say, and she snapped. She shoved her plate away, and it clattered to the floor. River winced as though struck at the noise, the conversation in the room dying at the gesture, and she had the grace to look ashamed when Simon bent over to fetch it, gathering the last bits of apple and returning the mess to the tabletop. Mal was watching openly now, concern written across his features, but all Simon had to offer was a bracing smile. “River?”

She put her fists together and made a twisting motion, looking at him helplessly, and his heart clenched despite his resolve to be stoic for her. “Okay...okay, let’s go.” 

She pushed back from the table, refusing to look at anyone in the room as Simon extricated himself and his brace from the table, picking up her plate. He slung his free arm around her shoulders and tried not to wince when she leaned into his sore ribs, but they’d patched enough that it was just a persistent ache now. He could cope. 

“Hey.”  Mal’s voice caught them in the doorway, and the pair turned back to look at him. SImon bit down on his nerves, because he wasn’t sure what the captain had to say, but he remembered last year, his impatience, his unfamiliarity throwing a firm wall in front of his compassion.  Mal leaned back in his chair, eyes on River. “You don’t…”

He paused, licking the edge of his teeth. Simon tensed despite himself. 

“You don’t have to...go. When it’s bad.” Mal tipped his book closed and rested his hands on top of it. “You can have a bad day, Mei-mei.”

He was giving her permission to stay. Asking her to, really, and Simon was very suddenly worried that he might actually fall in love with this man and wouldn’t that be...trouble. Before he could open his mouth, River ducked from beneath his arm and slid across the room on her cat feet, draping her arms around Mal’s shoulders in an awkward hug. The captain froze for a split second, before reaching up to pat her arm and offer Simon a half-smile. Zoe hummed her agreement, and Wash grinned, something soft in his eyes that made the rest of Simon’s nerves steady. 

They had people now. It was becoming more apparent everyday. River never instigated physical contact of her own accord with men, and often women, though she’d grown close to Kaylie and Inara over the months on Serenity. She hadn’t been particularly affectionate even before the academy, and after...well, he could only imagine what that had been like. What being a military prisoner at sixteen while they surgically removed every mental defense against --

He was getting angry. They had people, and a future, now, he would do his best to heal what he was able. And these people seemed intent on doing the same, and Simon loved them for it. 

River lingered only a moment before she returned to his side because he still needed the extra hand on the stairs. He turned back to Mal with a soft smile. “We’ll...come back up. After we’re done with the medicines.” 

River nodded her agreement, wearing her brave face, and Mal nodded, returning to his book.


	4. Chapter 4

It was cold on Ariel. Well into fall, and after a month of being much closer to the sun, enjoying the verdant heat of Marigny’s forests and fields, he found he rather hated it. One more point of contrast in his life, between the now and the then. It was early yet in the evening, but Simon had left River sleeping soundly in their hotel room after asking Wash and Zoe to check in on her. He promised he’d return within a few hours. The chain of the  _ manal  _ over his ears was still cool where it threaded into his hair, but the black fabric trapped the heat of his breath against his face, providing an extra layer of warmth as he pulled his scarf closer and tucked it into the breast of his coat. 

The brace creaked in the chill air, voicing a protest he’d been rolling around his tongue for the better part of his half hour walk. He was restless. This hotel was infinitely nicer than the one on Persephone, covered in more crystal than holoscreen, with real art on the walls instead of projections. He knew Mal would worry with him walking around the heart of Ariel given how their last visit had ended, but he couldn’t help himself. Being in the room, even with the presence of his sister, dredged up all the memories of the  _ last  _ room, and Mal. Even the imprinted hotel soap.

He missed him. Simon swore slightly under his breath at the realization. Missed that complex man and his simple grin, more than he’d ever missed Ariel and its never-empty streets. People pushed past him without apology, the street wet with fall storms that he remembered loving while he was here in school. The city didn’t seem as big to him now. The people less interesting. Certainly less...cultured, or perhaps that facade had just lost its appeal in the year he’d spent on the run. His  _ manal  _ drew hardly more than a second glance, the brace and obvious limp caught more eyes than his partially covered face. He felt anonymous. Alone. 

It wasn’t what he’d wanted either. He ducked into the nearest liquor store and paid cash for two bottles of a rare gin he knew he wouldn’t be able to put hands on again when they left the planet. He paid extra for a fabric bag with two sleeves that kept them from clinking against each other as he walked, just because he could. Ever the snob, after all. He tried not to think too hard about the twinge of guilt that accompanied that thought. He’d had a life here, once. A few blocks away actually, he could see the spire of the apartment building where he’d rented his first place. They’d offered a discount to medical students, not that he needed it. 

The affluent nature of the area rubbed him wrong. The last year on Serenity had changed him very much, the recent month on Marigny a reminder that there was more to this, more rot to the polish than he’d ever cared to see before. He thought himself a righteous man once, contributing in what way he could without ever knowing the face of true suffering. He wasn’t sure if he was still righteous or not...he just felt tired. He made his way along the boardwalk that overlooked the small harbor near their hotel, gritting his teeth against the growing ache in his thigh. He knew he was pushing it. Also knew that, if he didn’t, he would never recover. 

It still bothered him that such a short walk had him perspiring despite the chill. As he neared the hotel, he paused to take in the ships and various shuttles docked along the water’s edge. Among them were the two from Serenity, one dark and empty, and next to it, Inara’s. There was a warm glow suffusing the windows that seemed much more inviting than the cold hotel bed opposite his sisters on the 40th floor. He grimaced, hesitating at the thought that she was, after all, a registered companion on a core planet, the chances were very high that she had company. 

He missed Mal, and the ship. He’d known the second he’d opened the room’s door that he was going to sleep terribly there, if at all. River’s paranoia ate at him, and after a light supper, she voluntarily took her nighttime medications early and passed out, leaving him to his own thoughts, and they were far less settled than he would have liked. Before he realized he’d made a decision, he was turning down the alley of ships instead of heading into the hotel.

Simon found himself craving Inara’s presence. She’d always had a calming effect on him, from the moment he’d met her. His lips twisted wryly at that, because he doubted that was the reaction she often got from men like him. Fairly sure her intent was the opposite, as well. It didn’t matter. 

He hesitated with his hand poised to knock, and realized that if she did have company, she’d have silenced the intercom. That was a much less intrusive way of finding out. Knocking would be a guaranteed interruption to her...work. He flushed slightly, reaching instead for the button. 

“Inara?”

A moment of silence had him turning on heel, convinced he would find no conversation here, but the door slid open a breath later and he turned back, a hopeful smile on his face. Inara cocked her head at him, folding a silk scarf over her bare shoulders. “Simon? Is everything alright?”

“I….yes, everything is fine, I just...got bored. And I have gin.” 

She quirked an eyebrow at him, glancing at the bag over his arm. “A particular favorite of mine, no less.”

“Are you...otherwise engaged?” He hedged gently, but she shook her dark curls and stepped back, gesturing him inside. 

Her shuttle never failed to take his breath away. He had no idea how such a small space could encompass so much and still echo a person in every stitch and layment. Pulling the fabric form his face where it was suddenly cloying, he divested of his coat and scarf rather stiffly. 

She appeared out of nowhere, and then his extra clothes were gone, tucked away behind a curtain. Inara pulled a small serving tray from a nearby dresser and settled herself on one end of the couch, gesturing for him to do the same. He passed off the bottle as he arranged his braced leg, ignoring the low throb settling into his wounded thigh from the exertion of his walk. “Thank you for having me.”

“Of course.” Inara smiled warmly, and he took comfort in the way it bled into her eyes as well, genuine. “What’s on your mind?”

Her bracelets rung as she handed him his glass, and it made him smile, remembering how quickly she’d caught onto their...development. “...Mal, in a word.”

“Ah.” She smirked, sinking back into plush cushions with her alcoholic treat. “And here I thought the gin was for me.”

“It is. This distiller is known for using iris and juniper in their blend of aromatics. It made me think of you.”

She peered at him, impressed. “I don’t wear the iris perfume very often. I’m surprised you remembered.”

“They’re my favorites.” 

“So the purple ones in the kitchen are yours?” She tilted her head again, watching him. Simon found he didn’t mind. “The white ones are mine, according to River. They’re one of my favorites as well.” 

Simon nodded, sipping at his gin. It hit like a delicate punch in the face, spicy and complex. Full of flowers and smoke, and he paused to admire his glass for a moment. It was better than he remembered. “I’m sorry to drop in unexpectedly. You’re a calming presence.”

“I’ve been told.” She agreed without hubris, but a shadow crossed her features. “Has Mal done something?”

“No.” Simon answered quickly, a hand falling over the sore spot upon his thigh, pressing into it gently. “It’s...more that he hasn’t.”

“Is he...distant? Or just distanced?” She asked, and he felt a degree of relief that she could make such a distinction. 

“It’s not fair to say that he’s been absent. I’ve seen him everyday since Maringy, he’s affectionate, he’s...closer to me now than we’ve been in the past.” Simon started, but faltered. “He told everyone. I mean, we’d talked about it, I knew he would, but I’m...I don’t know.”

“ _ You’re _ distant.” Inara adjusted her assessment, “And that’s frustrating you.”

“That sounds more honest.” 

“I noticed he was sleeping in his own bunk more these last few weeks, but I assumed that was because your injuries made sharing the guest quarters difficult. Those beds are hardly accommodating.”

“It was because...of that, at least originally.” Simon licked his lips, mulling over the space. “I mean, I was on the couch for a decent portion of the time, to be fair. And he still came to me. When it was...well, right after, sometimes I’d wake up and he’d be asleep in a chair in the infirmary with me.”

“He seems attentive. Affectionate.” Inara sipped at her glass, studying his features. “Do you wish he were more or less so?”

“I wish he stop treating me like a piece of glass.” Simon said, surprised by the edge in his tone. “I wish...I’d...done something differently, so that he didn’t see me as weak.” 

“Has he called you weak?” 

“No.”

“....Has he implied that he thinks less of you, in some way?” She sounded genuinely confused and Simon flushed a little, shaking his head. “...Have you talked to him about any of this?”

Simon pursed his lips, and shook his head again. Inara raised an eyebrow, and he didn’t bother trying to defend it, swallowing a much larger mouthful of his gin. “It hasn’t come up.”

“He’s in the process of redesigning his ship...arguably the one item aside from his pistol that he cares about, mind you...so that the two of you can share a space.” She chided him, and Simon winced. “If you’re having second thoughts--”

“No!” The word darted between his teeth before he could bite down on it. He brushed a hand over his face, and killed the rest of his glass, which Inara refilled wordlessly, the gracious hostess that she was. “I’m not having second thoughts about...us. The idea of cohabitating like that scares me a little, but I’ve never...It’s not because--” 

He sighed, frustrated. Raked a hand through his hair and glanced at her helplessly. 

She smiled. “It is a big deal. It’s okay to be nervous about it.”

Simon wilted a little at her words, sinking back into her obscenely comfortable couch. “Okay.”

“Mal is not an easy man to read. I say this because, lately, he’s made it abundantly clear to us that he cares for you. As though he’s going out of his way to make these gestures of affection. Not just with you, either, the cake, the fruit, the extended shore leave, the room arrangements...he’s taking stock of what matters to him.” 

“I can only imagine, after living the way he did, for so long, that if I were in his shoes and came into a large amount of money, I would do the same.”

“He has freedoms to do so that you don’t, given your...political situation.” 

Simon laughed, “That’s a tactful way to put it.”

“I am studied in tact.” Inara reminded him gently. “And love. And sex. And feelings so complicated that you’d like to rip every strand of hair from your head rather than face.” 

“I can’t do that, he likes my hair.” 

“He likes  _ you _ .” The companion smiled at him again, painted lips revealing the edge of her white teeth. “You make a fine pair, and that’s coming from a guild member. Don’t think so hard on the things that going right in your life. There’s still plenty of trouble to be dealt with.” 

Simon grimaced, and she amended gently, “But I don’t think Mal ranks on that list. He can be infuriatingly thick sometimes, misguided at his worst, but I have a lot trouble believing he sees you as weak. What would you have done differently?”

“I don’t know...I don’t even remember most of it, if I’m honest. I had a cataclysmic amount of drugs in my system on top of the injuries, I couldn’t...tell you, specifically, what I would have changed. He’s told me the story, and I can feel it in my head like scar tissue, but it’s eating at me. It feels...unresolved.”

“And you envy his closure on the matter?” 

She said it as though she were guessing, but the truth rung through her words like a bell. Simon nodded. “Envy it. It’s not resentment, I know that he did something terrible. And that I asked him to do it. But I feel like a coward that I couldn’t do it myself.”

“Kill Camden?”

“Mhm.” Simon sipped at his gin, feeling his cheeks flush with the warmth of it. “I’ve never killed anyone, and I asked him to do it for me. Even though I genuinely believe that man deserved death, I don’t know how to reconcile my request that Mal be the one to do it with...my...sense of honor, I guess.” 

“From what I know of you, the fact that you came to that conclusion at all is monumental.” She turned to face him, curling her legs onto the cushions in a way that he ached to mimic, hating his brace in that moment. “Dipping into grey morality after everything you’ve been through can be difficult. I doubt it will be the last time. But for what it’s worth, Mal has the grey areas down to an art. I trust his moral compass, despite his occasional idiocy.”

“I think my...lack of grey is part of why he’s drawn to me.” Simon offered musingly. “He said he needed someone brave enough to draw the line.”

“You are brave, Simon. Brave enough to stand up to him, brave enough to be what he needs.” 

“Is he what I need?” He asked bluntly. “Or is he just a welcome distraction from everything that’s wrong in my life?”

“Mal is not the sort of man to be anyone’s ‘distraction’.” Inara reminded him. “If he believed that, if he thought you believed that, he would never have brought up his attraction in the first place. Whatever this is between you two, he’s going to make an honest go of it.”

“I know.” 

“Then you should do him the courtesy of talking to him.” Inara finished, tipping her glass at him. “He’s going to claim your problems, whatever they are, and once he gets his teeth in, he will not surrender them.” 

“I think...that man would overthrow the government if I asked him to.”

Inara laughed at that, nodding. “Don’t go giving him any grand ideas. After Marigny, his ego is fit to burst.” 

“...Thank you.” Simon tipped his glass back and raked both hands over his face, offering her a smile. “I’m frustrated. I’ve been chewing on this for a little over a week now and I was no closer to letting it go.” 

“These few days apart will clear your mind a bit. And when he extends shoreleave another three days so he can spend them tearing your clothes off, you’ll feel better about the whole thing.” 

And Simon was suddenly looking anywhere  _ but  _ at Inara. “Are we that obvious?”

“This is what I do.” She smiled at him, reaching back to pluck a small book from the shelf next to the couch. “And this...should help you pass the time. I gave him the companion novel.”

He accepted the book, opening the nondescript cover to the title page. “The Dragon and the Phoenix?”

“A chinese anthology of philosophical essays regarding sexual health and the concept of yin and yang.” She wrinkled her nose. “I made that sound very clinical, but it’s an interesting read, regardless.” 

“Clinical is right up my alley.” He said with a grin. With a sigh, he rose to his feet, feeling warm and suddenly very sleepy as he collected his things. “Should provide a lovely distraction from worrying about Jayne turning us in again.” 

“Again?” Inara’s facade fell, disgust and alarm clear on her features. “He was the one who called them last time? And Mal let him stay?”

“Mal almost put him out the airlock over it. And he’s...warmed up, a little, since, so I’m not...really worried.” Simon suddenly regretted bringing it up as he shrugged into his coat. Inara put her mask back on as she led him to the door.

She was perfectly calm again when she met his eyes. “I will kill him in his sleep if he does it again.”

Simon’s eyes widened a little to realize she was serious. He was touched by her concern, and she cupped his face fondly before tugging his  _ manal  _ into place and adjusting the chain. “We should detour to Sihnon before leaving the core. I would like for you to see my home.”

“Serenity is home now.” Simon shrugged. “I’ve heard Sihnon is very beautiful this time of year.” 

  
“It is.” She leaned in with a wicked smile. “And they teach  _ classes _ .” 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, guys, this chapter gave me fits. Should return to our regularly scheduled programming after this. 
> 
> Have some angst, i love you. Mwah.

 

“What do you think?!” Kaylee threw her arms out, gesturing grandly at Serenity.

Serenity that looked...largely unchanged. The party drew up, pausing to take in the ship and Simon spared a glance at the others to see if they thought the same. Wash shrugged, leaning closer to ask, “...Did she cut her hair?”

“No...I don’t think so.” Simon answered cautiously, studying the ship again. The panels were the same, the dull glint of new steel in the sockets the only clue that they’d even been removed, from this angle. 

Wash tapped his fingers on his chin, squinting. “Something is different.” 

“River?” Simon turned to his sister, but she was distracted, combing a bug from her hair. Rather, holding up the strands and giggling as it walked along them, inspecting every twitch of movement. She could be bizarre, at times. “I don’t...She’s getting closer, anyone? Guys?”

Kaylee realized within a few steps that they hadn’t seen it and paused, hands on hips. “Really?”

“She looks...great!” Simon stalled, beaming under his  _ manal  _ and praying she’d launch straight into her bubbly explanation of whatever upgrades they’d acquired in the week’s absence, but she wasn’t fooled.

“We  _ washed  _ her. Depot had a power-washing station, spent...like...six hours detailing her, and you don’t even--” The mechanic tsked good naturedly, grabbing the handles of their suitcases and turning back to the ship. “Shameful.” 

“Isn’t most of the debris burned off the second we enter an atmosphere?” Simon asked the pilot, under his breath.

Wash nodded, clapping him on the shoulder. “Well, god only knows how much ash she actually scrubbed off herself, we’re going to go with it.” 

“Agreed.” Simon started forward, then paused to pull his sister along by the elbow. Her bug abandoned her, flitting away into the afternoon sun. 

XXXX

“One more.”

Jayne shook his head, a mute frown on his face as he reached to wrap a fist around the bar and maneuver it back into the rack over Simon’s head. The doctor’s arm was numb from fingertip to elbow when he reached to wipe the thin sheen of sweat from his face and rolled his eyes. “I can keep going.”

“Maybe, but we’re done.” 

“You said you were going to push me.” Simon snapped as the mercenary stepped away and stripped out of the worn bench gloves he wore. Simon had taken one look at them and balked, he could smell them from two feet away, some bitter mix of engine grease, metal and perspiration. He shifted uncomfortably on the bench, eyes settling on the bar again. He could go again, he knew it. He had to. 

It had been months since Marigny. Months since he’d been forced to attempt any kind of life saving surgery, and he was a coward for being thankful about that fact. Simon in this state was flawed, integrally, and every day that passed where he did not feel improvement, he felt something...worse. Like the wall between the person he wanted to be and the deep well of rage in his heart was growing thinner. His words were edged, so he refused to talk. He found himself slipping away from the dinner table to neurotically tune into the Admiral’s comm link and review the news. He’d long ago saved the bulletin about his son’s suicide to the tablet, and when his self-imposed two minute window for contact was up, he would kill the connection and read that instead. At this point, he had it memorized. 

It was wearing thin, all of it. His lack of progress with River, his lack of contact with Mal, conversation with any and everyone on the boat fraught with tension. 

It didn’t help, in the least, that it was majorly one-sided. Simon didn’t know what was wrong with him. Simon knew  _ exactly  _ what was wrong with him.

He tuned out the screaming ache in his biceps and shoulder as he reached for the bar again, jerking it out of the support pins on either side.

\--Realized in half a second that he’d mistimed it, his good arm much faster than the bad, and that end of bar began dip too quickly for him to correct it. He hissed a breath that got Jayne’s attention, but even the mercenary wasn’t fast enough to catch it. 

His arm failed, the bar and 125lbs of cold iron landed across his bad shoulder before slipping to the side. The resulting crash bled seamlessly into his grunt of pain and then Jayne’s voice was steadily rising as he pulled the weights away. “--gorram know-it-all son a  _ bitch _ .”

He could breathe again. Jayne set the weight aside and raised a hand as if to strike him, and Simon was struck dumb by how much he wanted it. Anything, god, anything to shake him back to his senses, he felt like he was coming apart at the seams. It never came. Behind him, he could already hear Mal’s boots on the short steps from the infirmary, and the captain appeared in the doorway just as Jayne opted instead to snatch him up the collar. “I said we’re done. You’re  _ done _ . I gotta tell you how this ends when you drop it on that skinny neck, Doc? Catch a gorram finger in the dumbbell?”

Mal, curiously, did not come to his defense, watching from over Jayne’s shoulder, and that was worse somehow. “I thought I could handle it.”

“And I said you ruttin’ couldn’t, genius.” Jayne dropped him, looming. “Ain’t nobody on the boat that can fix you if you go under, you know that. Crack your damn skull, that way, that’s why I  _ spot  _ you.”

He shoved the bar out of the way with a heavy boot, stalking around the side of the bench. “Nevermind breaking my damn equipment while you’re at it,  _ pigu _ .”

“It’s not getting any better.” The words slipped hot through his teeth, and both men grew still, Jayne turning back to look at him without pity on his face. That was fine. He was sick to death of pity, sick of his brace and the medicines and the perpetual ache in his shoulder. Sick of knowing that if he were anyone else, he could waltz into the nearest hospital and check himself in and be back to normal after a short surgery and a few days of bedrest. As though to spite him, his arm spasmed violently and he curled it tight into his stomach. That would have been a patient’s death, in another life...by his count, the 314th. 

He rubbed his other hand over his mouth as though he could scrub the bitterness from it, refusing to look at Mal. Petty, and he knew how Mal hated it, but he couldn’t, in that moment. He couldn’t stand to see another moment of confusion, hesitation, where there was once only confidence. 

Mal was not having it. “We need to talk.” 

“Your room or mine?” He felt more than saw the man flinch and the slow uncoiling of anger that followed. That was unfair. It was not Mal’s choices that still had him sleeping in his old room after the costly renovation. He’d fumbled down the ladder and taken one look and realized that he wasn’t...he didn’t fit. There was more than enough room for him, they’d taken down the two walls into the adjoining quarters and Mal had even...there was a shower. In their room, he’d added that for Simon. 

And it seemed, finally, that Mal had enough as well. “ _ Our _ room. Now.”

He left him there, on the bench, near silent save for the creak of his boots as he turned away, and Jayne busied himself cleaning up. Cleaning up after Simon. 

He was not pouting. He was furious, god only knew how, but River peered at him owlishly over the top of her book as he entered the stairwell and turned left to climb to the common area. He heard the slam of Mal’s (their) door, as he reached the top and was quietly glad that the mess hall was deserted. He hated this. Hated this long walk and how his brace creaked despite his constant oiling of the bars, and he was in the last stretch of that, at least. He’d removed his own stitches three weeks ago, and the wound was finally a snarl of pink and white. It no longer bled or wept when he moved wrong. Closed, if still bruised and delicate. 

Simon hated how much easier the climb into Mal’s space was the second time around. He felt the captain’s anger vibrating the air around his shoulders as he lingered at the foot of the ladder to catch him if he fell, stomping on the pedal lock the second his head was clear. Simon had more trouble holding his arms steady, but he made it, dipping his chin to avoid Mal’s eyes like a damned coward as he stepped around him. 

His heart broke a little, to see his things still neatly boxed to one side of the room, the new bookshelves empty and awaiting his growing collection of exchange reference papers and text books. He turned a slow circle, to the made bed directly behind the ladder, the short table with fold out chairs where he’d imagined them playing cards late at night, now covered in bills and updated ship registries. Mal had gone legit, to a degree, after Marigny. Still owed taxes, if he recalled, but Serenity was licensed and registered in his name instead of a proxy. 

Standing in the middle of it, it all seemed so far away. 

The minutes crawled, and eventually, he turned back, meeting the cold grey eyes he’d been ducking. The fight abruptly left him, as he knew it would. Like he could...like he knew, Mal would not stand for an honest to god argument, now that he’d pushed it there. He found he couldn’t remember why he’d wanted this. “...This isn’t much of a conversation.”

“I’m getting there.” Mal shot back, his anger a low hum behind the words. He was not quite shouting at this point, to be fair, though the potential was there. “Not sure what I did between here and Marigny that wasn’t...what you wanted, and I reckon’ you’re not going to tell me.”

Simon opened his mouth, but the captain cut him off with a short gesture. “Don’t. Way I see it, whatever you’re chewing on has nothing to do with me. That’s all I know.” 

“...You’re right.” It was a wonder, how those words rushed out of him. 

“So tell me something I don’t know.” Mal advanced on him them, coming off the ladder to hover. “What do you need that you’re not getting? That I can’t offer? I got...a whole  _ life _ , on the table right now, and I don’t like feeling like the pair in a flush hand.” 

Simon felt a tic in his jaw and dropped his chin again, anything to find a reprieve from those words, but a calloused hand caught him up and held him still for inspection, Mal’s voice dipping closer to cold and dark, the way he sounded when he was truly serious. “Give me your eyes. And tell me what the hell is wrong with you.”

“I’m…” The doctor swallowed, throat working under the older man’s palm as he searched for words. “Angry. About it. All of it. Marigny, River, Shun.”

Mal said nothing, his eyebrows raising a fraction expectantly, goading him on. He licked his lips and tried again, steeling himself not to lean in Mal’s grip and betray how very badly he’d needed it of late. How he’d denied it to himself in some abstract form of punishment for not being able to save himself, much less others. “I feel...mangled. Like something rotten on that plantation came with me, like it’s under these scars and they’re never going to heal. I feel like I've cracked in half. I feel…less.” 

Mal’s grip tightened slightly, studying his face as he spoke, his thumb grazing back beneath his ear. “You’re not less. Wounded, but not less.” 

“It’s not getting better. River isn’t getting better. I’m not…” Simon swallowed against the heat in his eyes, nose curling slightly at the admission. “I’m not winning this. It’s starting to feel like I can’t win, and I’ve never…”

“You’ve lost patients. And people.” Mal insisted, steady where he was shaking. Simon both loved and hated him for it. 

“I’ve never had the choice taken from me like this. I always had...a say, a trick. A last play that made me feel like I’d...exhausted the options. There is no option here. The damage is done. And I’m not coping well.”

That last came out softer than he’d intended. A hot tear fell from the corner of his eye, and he closed them to keep more back, disgusted with himself. Rough fingers brushed it away and lifted his chin again. He felt Mal’s voice settle along his bones. “What you’re doing...this...this is not healing. This is destructive.” 

Simon flinched at that. Mal did not relent. “You’re not allowing yourself to heal, you’re acting like you deserve it. Like that will save River, make your arm alright.That’s not recovery, Simon, that’s perpetuation.”

“You sound like a therapist.”

“I sound like someone who knows what it’s like.” Mal bit off, shaking him once to keep his attention. “I carry fifty some-odd men on my shoulders everyday, Simon, you can handle two.”

And then again, softer. “You  _ can _ .” 

Simon licked his lips, opened his eyes again with a sigh. “I don’t know what to do.” 

“Your people are still living. You are still alive. Stop locking me out and let me help you stay that way.” There was still four inches of space between them, and Simon thought that was much, much too much. He wanted to fall in. He wanted to hear this, to take it to heart, and he drew the curtain on his professionalism, on the reptilian brain that whispered all the impractical ways he could ruin this. It all sounded too easy. He didn’t want that.

That dawned on him without warning, that he didn’t want this to end. “I’m sorry.” 

“Do you have any idea what I’d give to see you smile again?” Mal offered, and the words pierced something deep in him, a great wash of shame that he’d forgotten he was capable of because it was easier to be irritated. The captain searched his face, but did not yield his point, his other hand sliding into the dark wave of hair at the nape of his neck. “You used to ask me for things you needed. Can we get back to that?”

“Mal, you don’t like hitting me--” Simon started weakly, and Mal raised an eyebrow. “And...I can’t...work, right now, it’s not…”

“I know. And you’re right, i don’t like the idea of having a go at you, but you need something. You need something cathartic.I can provide that. I don’t know how yet, but you’ll trust me to try, won’t you?”

Simon didn’t nod, simply collapsed forward, and the fluid ease that Mal’s arms came up to support him was all the answer he needed. He did. He would. He would do better, he would try. He pressed himself into the warm line of the older man’s chest and for a long moment, both stood there, just breathing their reunion. 

After a while, Mal’s voice shifted just over his ear. “You’re staying here tonight. With me.” 

It was not a question.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: (half drunk on a friday night ten minutes after eating an edible, imagine a 3k sex scene, checks invisible watch like Mr. Incredible) Yeah, I've got time.

 

Touch-starved, was the phrase echoing soundly through his ears as he stood there wrapped in Mal’s arms in the center of their shared bunk. It seemed ridiculous to him. He’d spent the last several weeks at the mercy of his wounds, tended to by the steady hands of the other crewmembers and this man in particular, but the distance between them lately had left a void. He felt it keenly when they aligned from shoulder to hip and he could feel Mal’s heart beating through the fabric of their shirts. He felt it in the heat of his breath ghosting over his shoulder and the back of his neck as the captain turned into him, inhaling against his skin. 

He shied from it, despite himself, absurdly sensitive. Attuned, perhaps, was the better word, because he felt as though he’d wandered into the midst of heavy rain, River had always told him he was more sensitive to others than he’d let on, as though her particular talents were as hereditary as her wit. He wondered at that now, because he knew the moment Mal’s mind slipped from comfort to  _ consumption _ , felt it in the graze of his mouth against his throat, the pointed grip of his fingertips where they rested at his shoulder blades. Between one breath and the next, a low turn of heat sang between them, tense as wire. 

Simon leaned into it. Mal’s mouth crept higher to brush over his ear, the line of his cheek, closing on the corner of his mouth as though asking permission and he was done pretending that he didn’t need this. Pretending that he’d muddle through on his own, that he was whole and complete as ever and he hadn’t changed. That the last few weeks hadn’t  _ changed  _ him. Simon  _ needed _ . 

He turned into the touch, and felt the older man tense at the first hot brush of his tongue, and then Mal drew up and tilted his head back, and the rest was taking. He’d been mistaken thinking that the captain was a man of patience, a slow burning fire. He took him apart with slow strokes, working his mouth open and inviting himself deeper as Simon lost his breath. He couldn’t think, and that was glorious. Nothing existed outside the heat, the steady, sensuous drag of Mal’s nails down his back as the demand was made. Simon jumped when they shifted up, threading into his hair to hold him open and the captain  made a low sound of approval between them that he felt more than heard. 

He felt like a homecoming. That thought was followed by a bright lance of fear, because he was homeless, he’d been running for so long, but there was no running from this. He tried to pull away, gasping, and Mal’s mouth only dipped to return to his throat, heat and teeth, and damp, and Simon was on his toes well before he’d regained any scrap of sense. Every nerve was burning, drunk with it, and he wanted...more, now, faster. His hands were shaking but Mal had always done that to him. Always. 

Navigating buttons was so much harder, and he could have wept with relief when he realized Mal had foregone his usual layers and a few minutes fumbling rewarded him with the broad expanse of his chest. He buried himself in it, glancing up to find Mal’s eyes blown dark, hooded, watching the flash of white teeth. It might have been easy to go to his knees once, but the brace protested even this partial bend, and he pulled away in frustration to address it. 

Missed, because that was apparently too far away for Mal’s preference.

Before he could find the zipper, heavy hands wrapped his side, fingers digging into the curve of his ass as Mal lifted and turned in a fluid motion, dropping him onto the bed and following before Simon even registered that he was flat on his back.

And that was something...something else entirely, to feel him above, warm skin and rough hands and teeth and the weight of him, just--”Mal, please.” 

He worried for a second that could be taken as a complaint, but either the older man understood or Simon gave him too much credit. Either was entirely possible. Instead of moving, he shifted and settled his weight directly over his hips, and Simon grabbed at his shoulders, seeking anchor. Mal made short work of the cuffs at his thigh and calf, flinging the brace somewhere...else, other, into another dimension, with a clatter and then pulled his leg up by the knee to frame him with his thighs. Rough nails over the surface of the thin shirt he worked out in, and then under it, and Simon bucked off the blankets at the shock of it, chanting please, god, please, like that.

Simon could barely protest when the shirt ripped over his head none too gently, half panting at the sort of pressure that applied to his groin when Mal leaned back. He struggled to meet him halfway, but the captain’s hands settled around his biceps and forced him back down, reminding him of how sore he was, how tired, without ever uttering a word. His tongue ran a hot path from his navel to his sternum, and Simon’s chanting edged closer to begging as it worked, hot, open-mouthed kisses marking at random, avoiding the buds of his chest with furious intent. He fought that grip when teeth locked on his collar, words lost to him at the blind heat of it, forgetting himself, “Mal!”

A groan closer to a growl was his only answer, though those hands mercifully found other business to attend to, abandoning their grip to rake his remaining clothes down his hips. Simon hid his face, clinging to the scraps of his composure with a deep flush of color on his cheeks, down his chest. He realized that the reprieve stemmed from Mal shoving at his own clothes and the expression on his face was paralyzing. Almost. Simon all but ran from him, pushing himself higher up the mattress towards the pillows, but Mal was on him again before he could regain his breath, kissing hotly up his thighs until the shook.

“Mal, Mal, please, I can’t--” Think, breathe, exist under those teeth, fuck, the words wouldn’t come. His hips twitched, anything he could manage to be closer, but the captain’s mouth bypassed his cock altogether as he moved higher to trap Simon’s in a searing kiss. A sharp sound echoed between them, closer to a sob than he would have liked, when Mal’s fist wrapped around his length instead, but that was almost enough to send him over the edge. He was drowning in it, the heat and color of his skin, the weight of his hair as it carded through his shaking fingers, that first tentative upstroke  _ broke  _ him, and he tore away for air. “Mal, please.”

“ _ No _ .” The finality in it shocked him, feeling the clear fluid trail from the tip with agonizing clarity, pooling where it met his knuckles. He wanted, he wanted so badly that he couldn’t stand it, and Mal’s tense expression told him there was ground to cover yet before release. 

If he could wait. The heavy length of the older man’s cock rested against his inner thigh, streaking precome there, and something defiant welled in him at the denial. He pushed into that fist, and to his frustration, it abandoned him, leaving his sensitive skin to the shock of cool air. More, Mal you’ve got to touch me, the line between his languages blurred as he made his demands--

Struck dumb, mute, when a blunt thumb slipped into his mouth and Simon tasted  _ himself  _ on it even as it forced his head to the side to expose his ear to that dark voice, “You’ll come when I’m ready.” 

If he could wait, again, so little shouldn’t be enough to undo him, but he’d gone three months without indulging this desire and it was  _ ravenous _ . He stilled as much as possible, every breath shaking and that seemed to mollify the older man to a point. The ridged pad swept over the silk of his tongue again, then withdrew, brushing without warning over the tight bud of a nipple, and Simon writhed, running from it. 

Mal pulled back, looking him over as he settled back on his heels, and where the fuck did the bottle come from, he hadn’t even...God, watching him slick his fingers felt lewd, felt forbidden, but he imagined looking away was not an option given the hunger in the older man’s eyes. He barely paused before reaching forward, and Simon panicked that he wouldn’t remember how to relax, but that was--

God, perfect. Perfect, perfect, he didn’t even realize he was speaking until he paused for air, clapping hand over his mouth. Mal corrected that immediately, pulling his wrist to the side and the curl of his finger had him so close, “Mal, I’m ...wait, i’m--”

The captain stilled, shaking his head, giving him thirty seconds or so to withdraw from the edge. It was hard, he wanted so badly that it ached, his legs shaking in his effort to be still. Mal didn’t wait for his go ahead, simply timed his breathing and began again when Simon seemed to be coming to his senses. It was maddening. The second finger earned him another pause, had the doctor grabbing at the blanket, the pillow, biting the back of his fist, anything to stay grounded in the moment when that low pleasure threatened to consume him. Consuming, methodical, Mal took him apart like a starved man would his last meal. He couldn’t escape those eyes, that mouth where it left wicked marks along the wing of his collarbone, the edge of his ribcage when he arched too close to orgasm for Mal’s rules. 

By the time he withdrew and reached for the bottle again, Simon was beyond panting, a thin sheen of sweat over his stomach and hips. He couldn’t watch the second ministration, couldn’t wrap his head around the idea of following every movement, only shocked back into the moment when Mal’s hand slicked his own cock as well, and then his weight descended over the length of his body and spread his legs wider. There was nothing else in the room, in the verse, but that heat and those hands as he pressed closer, met resistance, and then slipped past. It was slow, agonizing over every second until his eyes were glassy and fixed on some unseen point on the ceiling, biting back on his pleasure with a depth of will that amazed him given the torture. His own cock lay trapped between their taut stomachs, every second of friction too much, God he was so--

Then those fingers wound into his hair, pulled him close, and the captain told him roughly, “Go on, Simon.”

He was. He noticed slowly, the way the fire in his blood unspooled, wire cut short and there was a slick rush of heat growing between them before Mal ever began to thrust. His hands settled at Mal’s shoulders as he shook with it, and the motion that followed was almost too much to bear, so soon after, he couldn’t, “Mal, i can’t.” 

“Again.” Mal muttered thickly into his throat, grinding his hips in short circles that kept him there, so high, right at the edge, and he was begging again before he knew it. 

“Mal, please, please I can’t, Mal, Mal, I’m so…”

“Good.” The captain was barely moving and Simon thought he might shake apart at the seams, He was aware, dimly, that this hurt, the pressure on his shoulder too much, wrong, and his tense thigh was screaming from somewhere far away, but he could feel nothing but that slow drag of skin over his still-leaking cock and the insistent voice in his ear, again, again,  Simon,  _ come _ .

Somewhere between that voice and the fist in his hair, he did, though he wasn’t sure it could be called a second...it felt as though the first had never ended, drawn instead into this mind-shattering second high that stole all coherency and left his protests staggering out into a wanton cry. He did fight it, then, he pushed, he railed, he clenched around the older man hard enough to hear him curse, feel his teeth, and Simon couldn’t care he was just...gone. 

Gone, elsewhere, trying to piece himself back together into time to feel Mal’s stroke grow more purposeful, more intense, but he was merely a bystander at that point. He clung to him, breathing on autopilot until he felt the captain bury himself to the hilt and lock there, rigid in his arms with his own shattered gasp.

And he felt it. More than the heat, more than the moment of tension, he felt it like a crack of lightning in the sky, chasing the heels of his own with a different spray of colors and new vibrancy. It took his breath away, cradling him close, tasting the sweat on his throat and feeling the damp hair that clung to his neck with reverence. He’d never known. He’d never...felt, a connection that clearly, not with a stranger, not with someone...else. It was strange and wholly beautiful, and it terrified him in the parts of his mind that were always awake to question such things, but right now, Mal showed no signs of moving. 

He fell asleep like that, neither bothering to withdraw in the aftermath.


	7. Chapter 7

 

His shoulder was myriad of new colors when he awoke, the darkest point just at his clavicle, where the bar had landed before sliding sideways. He knew he was lucky it was unbroken, but all he could really understand in that moment that he was a series of aches and pains. Simon shifted stiffly against the warm line of skin pressed down the length of his body and bit down on a hiss. It was easier to be still. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask Mal to move when the captain’s hand shifted slightly over his heartbeat and Simon bit back on that, too. 

Mal’s warmth was addictive, given how cold his bed had been. He knew that had been a caution on Mal’s part, because he was passionate and the doctor was very badly injured. It was Simon’s own fault that the last month had seen the distance grow to something strained, something guarded. Lying here in the early morning, he couldn’t quite remember why it had been so important. 

Instead, he uncurled his good arm from around the man’s shoulder and stretched the pins and needles from it as gently as he could without waking him. Something lingered, something was...off. Simon stared at the ceiling as he pondered it, blue eyes hooded in concern. Last night, there at the end, something had happened that he wasn’t prepared for. He’d felt Mal’s...felt him, as clearly as he did River, sharing a space within the privacy of his own mind. Even now, his sleepiness settled like a warm fog through his senses, a deeper rest than he should be feeling given his discomfort, and separate from it. A stroke of paint on glass.  

He studied it, in the silence, timing the ebb and flow to Mal’s breathing, unconsciously taking his pulse where he could feel it thrumming against his own chest. He wanted to see his face, wanted to search his eyes and find out if it was mutual or if he was...prying, somehow. River had never been ashamed of her gift at first, that came much later. Her innocence made it seem as natural as breathing. It was just...part of her life, another sense of perception of her surroundings, she could no more turn it off that she could willfully make herself blind. 

Simon winced at that, because she did, in fact, go blind at random these days. Aftermath of the scar tissue in her brain matter, her unorthodox surgeries. 

Simon had always felt enough shame for the both of them. He’d been trained to moral aptitude right along with his languages and spelling, his father insured it. There were plenty of opportunities to explore the gray areas, and his father had always encouraged him to do so, if only to make a concise argument for his beliefs. There was no true right and wrong, there were simply decisions, he’d always say. The decisions were the hard part. Choosing who and what and how one wanted to be was a game of constant vigilance. 

Like that night, on the veranda, when Mal had a crisis and asked him to do something unthinkable out of desperation and rage. He’d chosen then, to remain himself. Lately, the last month and a half, he’d been ignoring the decisions. It was easier to ignore them and pretend that he was not at fault for how things were going. Helplessness had never suited him. He was a man of action, and tact, quick-witted and yet patient, preferring to carefully consider his every move before showing his hand. 

Simon was ashamed of himself. Of his treatment of River, of Mal, of the others. Of his short temper and fatalistic attitude. 

Mal shifted against his hip, the cloud lifting a few degrees as he picked his head up slightly, kissed the edge of Simon’s jaw and rolled onto his back. Simon blinked at the metal overhead, cataloguing the shift in depth and color, the way the light filtered through the paint, a fluid reflection of depth. He wondered how deep it went. Shaking his head, he pulled away, observing the slow rise to consciousness as the captain woke up. 

It was so smooth, it made him smile. 

Mal had never been one to sleep in of his own accord. He heard the older man take a deep breath that bordered a yawn and turned to look at him. “Hey.” 

“Hm.” The captain hummed, rubbing his face with both hands as he sat up, and Simon watched the lean lines of his back fondly. He’d missed this, he was willing to admit it. He’d always tended towards the oddest forms of self-deprivation when he was feeling low. Mal turned back and frowned immediately, reaching over his chest to ghost his fingertips over the mark. 

“It’s fine, really.”

“He was right.” Mal didn’t let him off the hook, his eyes heavy as he traced one or two of the faded scars from his fall before pulling his hand away. “You should talk to him.”

“I know I owe him an apology.” Simon nodded, shifting under the attention. He left his eyes returned to the ceiling. “I have a few of those to give out.” 

“...Don’t give away too much. You earned a bit of grief.” Mal blinked at the clock, and his lip curled. “We slept through dinner.” 

“Mhm.” Simon was aware, the first traces of a headache settling in behind his eyes. He licked his lips, sat up a little against the pillows to see him more clearly. The words rolled around his tongue long enough that it caught Mal’s attention and he narrowed his eyes in gentle question. “Mal...last night, when...Did you notice anything...strange, I guess?”

“...Yes.” He answered seriously, but his smile turned roguish. “I won an argument.” 

Simon melted into a laugh at that, and Mal brushed the flat of his palm over the line of his abs, the touch grounding him a little further in the idea that they were in this together. Whatever this was. “I...had a moment, is what I’m trying to say.”

“Two, if I recall.” He chuckled when Simon flushed and flung the other pillow at him. “Sorry, I couldn’t...yeah. What kind of moment?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it was nothing. It felt...different. I felt...something happen, at the end, when you--”

Mal was peering at him curiously, and he struggled to remember the first time River had ever mentioned it to him. Had that even happened? They’d both known for so long, perhaps not...perhaps it just...was, always, between them. He schooled his features into something lighter, “I don’t know, maybe River’s...talent, is rubbing off on me.” 

Mal raised an eyebrow at that. Simon shrugged a little, shame creeping into his face. “I just felt closer to you.” 

“...Doesn’t strike me as a bad thing, right off. Were you...trying, or?”

“No, it was...I’ve never--” Simon bit his tongue rubbing at his eyes. “I don’t see how she talks about this, every day, this is impossible. I need tea. And food.” 

He watched Mal stand and pull on his pants before offering his hand, and Simon stood unsteadily after so long with the brace. The captain’s hand was warm as he led him over to the alcove that served as their new shower, transferring to the small of his back as he pushed him in. It would barely be large enough for both of them, he noted with no small disappointment, and Mal shook his head at the appraising look. “No.” 

“We could..if...we don’t, you know, inhale at the same time.” 

“No, Simon.” Mal reached beyond his hip to pull the water on and Simon braced himself for coldness, but it never came. Instead, the water was immediately warm, and he turned a marvelling look at the shower head. 

Mal slid open a panel near his head to retrieve a cloth and soap, and Simon expected him ot hand them off and then disappear to dress, but instead, he took a half step closer, crowding him into the tiny stall. Simon grinned, “I don’t need help bathing, Mal, I’m not--”

“Hush. S’nothing to do with that.” Mal cut him off, leaning in to kiss him properly for the first time that morning. The minutes passed slowly, counted in the slow drag of fabric over his skin. Mal knelt to lift his foot onto his bent knee and there was something mesmerizing about following the paths of soap with his eyes, the contrast of the white towel against his darker skin, against Simon’s own pallor. He was methodical, and steady, and by the time he returned to his feet and turned Simon around to work on his back, he was ready to go back to bed, relaxed and sated, leaning against the wall. 

Strong fingers curled into his hair next, and Simon nearly melted on spot. He shivered, feeling Mal press a kiss to his shoulder as the water ran between his shoulderblades and curled around the line of his hip.  He kept up his petting until the doctor rested his head back on the line of his chest, blissfully soaking in the heat and touch. 

He barely opened his eyes when the water ran out, pouting. “Another?”

Mal made contented sound against the top of his head, “Later.”


End file.
